The storm raged outside, rain hammering against the windows as thunder roared through the sky. Wind howled through the cracks like a mournful whisper.

I sat in a chair, my hands trembling, a rope tight around my neck—waiting. Ready.

My breath came in short, ragged bursts. My mind was made up. I had failed—at life, at purpose. There was nothing left for me here.

I shut my eyes and kicked the chair.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

Then—whispers. Soft, mocking, slithering through the void.

"This is him?"

"What a pathetic soul."

I opened my eyes.

The world was… gone. Nothing but an empty void. Cold. Silent. Endless.

A low chuckle echoed behind me. I turned.

A man stood there, dressed in a sharp black suit, a perfectly knotted tie resting against his chest. His beard was neatly trimmed, his hair styled with precision. He stepped forward, the sound of his polished shoes unnervingly loud against the nothingness.

"Well," he mused, a smirk playing on his lips, "I wasn’t expecting company so soon."

"W-what?" My voice cracked.

He tilted his head, studying me like I was some kind of puzzle. "You don’t seem the prideful type. Nor any of the other sinful ones."

"Prideful? Sinful? What are you talking about?"

His gaze darkened. "That doesn’t matter. What matters is what you do next."

A chill ran through me. His words carried weight, something unsettling pressing against my chest.

"Uh, look, I don’t know what kind of game you're playing, but I want no part of it." I turned away, stepping toward the abyss.

"Not so fast."

I stopped. Not by choice—something held me in place.

"Where do you think you’re going?" His voice was smooth yet commanding. "You haven’t even played the game yet."

I swallowed hard, my pulse pounding. "The game?"

He grinned. "Oh, you’ll find out soon enough."

The suited man and I stood opposite each other, like two pieces on a chessboard. My nails dug into my palms, anxiety gnawing at me. I didn’t understand what was happening. I thought I died.

Yet, here he stood, smiling. Those cold, piercing eyes seemed to strip me bare, like he already knew everything about me.

Silence stretched between us until he finally spoke.

"So, tell me…" He adjusted his cufflinks. "Why did you die?"

I hesitated, my throat tightening. "...I committed suicide," I admitted, the words bitter on my tongue. "I felt like there was nothing left for me. No one to turn to. So I did the only reasonable thing."

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Saying it out loud made my stomach twist. It was the truth, but that didn’t make it easier.

I had no one waiting for me when I got home from school. No family who cared. No friends who noticed. I spent my days lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting—for something. For someone to reach out. For anything to break the silence and give me what I had craved for so long… hope.

But it never came.

The suited man, still smiling, didn’t seem the least bit fazed by my confession.

"Well… how about I give you an opportunity?"

I blinked at him through watery eyes. "What do you mean, opportunity?"

He adjusted his tie, his grin widening. "If you win the game I mentioned earlier, I’ll give you something most people can only dream of—a second chance."

I scoffed. "I don’t want a second chance. I don’t want to go back to my miserable life. I just want to be done already."

My voice cracked, and before I could stop myself, tears spilled down my face.

Why would I want to go back to nothing? There was nothing waiting for me. Nothing to miss. Nothing I wanted.

What did he think I killed myself for?

His smile remained, but something in it shifted—something colder.

"Trust me," he said smoothly. "You’ll want to go back."

A shiver ran down my spine. My anxiety spiked.

"What the hell does that mean?" I muttered.

"Why don’t you want a second chance?" he continued, tilting his head. "Is it because your life was truly unbearable? Or…" His grin widened. "Was it because you were just a coward?"

My body tensed with rage. "What the hell did you just say?!"

He chuckled—a low, condescending sound that made my blood boil. "Relax. No need to get so defensive. Just because you know it’s true doesn’t mean you have to throw a tantrum."

That laugh—mocking, cold, infuriating—pushed me over the edge. My fists clenched, and before I knew it, I swung at him.

But he was gone.

A split second later, something cold clamped around my throat. My back slammed against the ground with crushing force. Pain exploded through me. I gasped, but I couldn't breathe.

He was crouched over me now, his grip tightening like a vice. His eyes, no longer amused, burned into mine with something far more terrifying.

"You’re pathetic," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "You can’t even fight for yourself. No wonder your ex left you."

My vision blurred from the lack of oxygen. My heart pounded against my ribs.

"H-how do you know about that?" I choked out.

His grip loosened—just enough for me to take in a ragged breath.

"I know a lot more than you think, Kael," he said, his tone like ice. "And I know you can change… if you take the second chance."

"F-fine… I will." My voice barely held strength.

He released me, stepping back as he adjusted his tie with precise, unsettling calm. His suit remained immaculate, like nothing had happened.

"Good," he said, his tone almost pleasant. Almost. "I’m glad you’re taking this seriously."

Then, just as quickly, his voice turned razor-sharp.

"But… you’re even more of a pathetic coward than I thought."

I barely reacted. I didn’t care anymore. I just wanted this to be over.

"So what’s this game?" I croaked, my throat raw.

His smirk returned. "It’s simple. Seven games, each centered around a deadly sin. Your sins."

He leaned in slightly, voice lowering. "Do you even know what they really are?"

He didn’t wait for me to answer.

The Overseer listed them—one by one—each word twisting into me like a blade.

"Lust—your selfish desire for pleasure, even at the cost of others."

"Greed—your endless hunger for more, never satisfied."

"Envy—your jealousy that poisoned every relationship you had."

"Gluttony—not just food, but indulgence—your need to fill the emptiness inside you."

"Pride—your refusal to admit fault, even when you knew you were wrong."

"Wrath—your anger, your violence, your destruction of everything around you."

"Sloth—your apathy, your refusal to change, even when you had the chance."

His words weren’t just descriptions—they were accusations, each one cutting deeper than the last.

"And each game will force you to face them, one by one," he finished, his tone unreadable.

A knot of unease twisted in my stomach. I didn’t want to do this. But if this was my only option…

"Alright," I said, frustration laced in my voice, but beneath it, something else burned—anger… and maybe, just maybe, determination.

"But what’s the catch?"

He grinned, sharp and knowing. "There is no catch."

That grin didn’t feel reassuring.

Then, as if an afterthought, he added, "Though I should warn you—you’ll die in some of these games."

My breath hitched. "What?!"

He sighed. "Relax. You’ll be revived at a checkpoint every time you die."

Then his voice dropped, turning glacial.

"After all… we know you couldn’t handle just one."

A lump formed in my throat.

The man extended his hand. "I am the Overseer. I keep the game in order. But don’t get confused—I’m not the one you go to if you have complaints."

I hesitated before gripping his hand. His skin was cold, his grip unnervingly tight.

"...So what’s the first game?"

The Overseer’s eyes gleamed.

"Pride.”

Then—darkness.